Chapter Text
The mission was laughably easy. A first-grade curse haunting hospital patients. Over twenty people had disappeared in the past month, and the case had quickly climbed high enough to land among Gojo’s assignments.
It was a hassle, honestly. He had barely returned from another mission before being sent out again, but he dealt with it. Yuki was off who-knew-where, and as the only other special grade available, he had responsibilities to uphold.
Usually, he would have complained at least a little. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to see Shoko or check in on Nanami. But Megumi was away on a school field trip for the week, and Tsumiki was sleeping over at a friend’s house, so at least his absence wouldn’t inconvenience them.
Despite Fukushima being over three hours away by car, the mission took Gojo only a moment to reach. His long-distance teleportation was still technically work in progress, but the Higher-ups had apparently decided it worked well enough to deny him car privileges.
In the end, the supposedly dangerous first-grade curse took barely twenty minutes to deal with. Finding it had been more troublesome than exorcising it.
After finishing up, he still didn’t feel like returning to Jujutsu High right away. He wanted at least an hour to himself before being thrown back into the endless pile of school-assignments.
And that was how he ended up in a bar.
“Pretty, pretty please, just one more Piña Colada,” he said, sweetly smiling at the bartender. “With extra sugar and a cute tiny purple umbrella.”
His head was laying on the table, his glasses pushed down slightly. The alcohol softened the edges of the normally insufferable overwhelming world, blending the flashing lights into a hazy hum.
The bartender raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“I told you, flirting with me won’t do you any favors, brat,” she grumpled. “You’re obviously drunk. Go home.”
“I’m not drunk,” he mumbled, jumping to his defeat, frowning at the eye roll she gave him.
“Sure.”
“Wha–I mean it! I’m like… supeeer sober. Like, a lot.” He raised his head for all of two seconds before shutting his eyes again, suddenly convinced the earth had flipped upside down.
“You walked in the doors five minutes ago.”
“That was ages ago. And it wasn’t even my fault, it moved! How was I supposed to know it would be there?”
The bartender stared at him.
Gojo stared back with complete sincerity.
Then he leaned forward dramatically, lowering his sunglasses just enough for one bright blue eye to peek through.
“I think,” he whispered, “you’re refusing to serve me because I’m too beautiful.”
A man nearby snorted into his drink.
“I mean–that’s the only logical reason, isn’t there? You only serve old, wrinkly men, and when handsome young me shows up, it ruins the business.” He continued, completely ignoring the raised eyebrows from the nearby audience.
The bartender pinched the bridge of her nose. “Kid, you’re one cocktail away from trying to fight a street sign.”
“And I’d win.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Gojo whined dramatically, running his hands through his hair.
“I’ll tip you soooo much,” he mumbled in defeat. “Just give me the Piña Colada? Please?”
“Are you even old enough to drink?” she asked, completely ignoring his pleading.
He nodded quickly.
“Yep, totally. Didn’t I show you my ID?” He asked enthusiastically.
He reached into his pocket and slapped a fake ID onto the counter.
“There,” he declared. “Evidence.”
The bartender looked at it for exactly two seconds.
“This says you’re fourty.”
Gojo blinked.
“Wait, I think I grabbed the wrong one–” He immediately turned around, digging through his pockets for another ID.
“See? Here. Just turned twenty-three. That’s a believable age, right?” he asked with a grin, handing her a different card.
She let out a long sigh, glancing between the two IDs on the counter.
“…You’re from Ohio?" She asked, a muffled laugh escaping her.
Gojo cursed internally for pulling out the wrong ID again. Since perfecting long-distance teleportation wasn’t possible without the occasional mishap, he carried several international documents with him everywhere. Just in case.
“...Yeah. My life is tragic like that.”
“You’re still wearing a school uniform.”
He immediately crossed his arms over the Jujutsu High buttons like he could hide the entire outfit through confidence alone.
“It’s fashion.”
She sighed and turned away to serve another customer.
“What? Are you judging me just because I’m prettier than other people my age? You know that’s not very nice of you,” Gojo called after her, accidentally scaring off the already nervous customer beside him.
The bartender cursed under her breath before turning back to him fully.
“Look kid,” she sighed. “We both know that ID is fake. If getting shit-faced drunk after two drinks wasn’t proof enough, then your high-school uniform definitely is.”
Gojo frowned. He didn’t think it was that obvious.
“I told you, it’s no–”
“I don’t know why you’re here alone instead of with your parents or friends, and honestly, it’s none of my business,” she continued. “But let me tell you something. Whatever you’re looking for, you’re not gonna find it at the bottom of a bottle. Getting drunk isn’t a solution. Trust a women serving the drinks.”
She turned around, not sparing him another glance.
“Now scram before you get me arrested.”
Gojo stared at her for a moment before sighting dramatically in defeat.
He pulled some cash from his pocket, way too much, judging by her widening eyes, and stumbled to his feet, nearly falling over in the process.
“I’m okay!” he called back to the bartender, leaning heavily against a nearby table to steady himself. “See?” he slurred. “Perfectly super sober.”
He took one step forward and walked directly into a chair.
The chair lost.
Gojo blinked down at the broken remains in confusion.
Did he… accidentally reinforce himself with cursed energy and destroy it?
“...okay that one might’ve been my bad,” he mumbled, pulling out another handful of cash and carefully placing it on top of the shattered wood.
“Here, here,” he muttered, patting the pile like that somehow fixed the situation.
Okay.
So maybe he was teensy-tinsy tipsy.
Like… only a little bit.
God.
Shoko was never going to let him live this down.
He began stumbling his way toward the exit, maneuvering carefully between drunk couples while almost tripping over his own feet every few steps.
Fuck, his head felt floaty. Like the whole world had turned into waves beneath him.
He stumbled outside, pushing the door shut behind him. The cold night air hit his face immediately, and the muffled noise from the bar helped clear his head a little.
With a sigh, he steadied himself.
He should probably go home. Right?
All he wanted was to teleport straight into Suguru’s dorm and snuggle with him in bed until he fell asleep. With a little luck, he could convince Suguru to fill out the report for him and–
Suguru deflected.
Gojo rubbed his face, cursing loudly.
Okay, he was officially drunk enough to forget that his best friend had gone on a murder spree.
Great.
If that wasn’t a sign to go home, he didn’t know what was.
It was too late to file a report to Yaga; he could do that tomorrow. More importantly, he really missed his bed.
He glanced around the empty street before wrapping himself in cursed energy, thinking about the house he shared with Megumi and Tsumiki.
What a shame they wouldn’t be there tonight. He really missed them. Maybe he should’ve bought them some souvenirs. But what kind of souvenirs could he possibly even get?
The cursed spirit’s body had disappeared immediately after exorcism. An exotic weapon from the area, perhaps? Megumi’s dogs would surely appreciate the bones from one of the victims.
He quickly pushed that thought aside.
He didn’t want to clean up the remains from the house afterward. Besides, the smell lingered for weeks; he’d learned that the hard way. Maybe he should buy them something different later. Some snacks or toys or whatever kids liked these days…
The moment he warped, his stomach twisted violently.
Shit.
Teleporting while drunk was definitely harder than doing it sober.
The world bent around him. Space folded, his vision blacked out for a split second, and then reality snapped back into place.
He was… not in his house.
Gojo blinked slowly.
The place vaguely resembled a shopping mall, and he was standing directly in front of a toy store.
Fuck.
Did he accidentally teleport to a toy store because he’d been thinking about Megumi and Tsumiki?
Shit. Shit.
The store looked familiar, like one he’d seen online a few days ago, though he had absolutely no idea where it actually was.
He groaned loudly, dragging both hands down his face before kicking a stray can across the pavement and shoving his hands into his pockets.
The lights were out, darkness wrapping around him like a blanket. It was way quieter than the bar, the night air soothing his overwhelmed senses. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a line of benches beside the wall.
Maybe he should just give up teleporting entirely and lie down on one of them. It’s not like anyone would recognize him, or care. Right?
His thoughts were interrupted by distant footsteps.
Gojo snapped his head around, ignoring the way the world spun slightly. A man was walking along the lower floor just beneath him. He wore a black leather jacket with ripped jeans, long blond hair tied into a bun, and sunglasses he absolutely did not need in the dark.
Perfect.
“Hey, you!” Gojo waved at him with a triumphant grin.
The man turned around, searching for the source of the voice. When his eyes landed on Gojo leaning over the railing above him, he tilted his head and glanced behind himself, clearly checking if Gojo could possibly be talking to someone else.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you blondie,” Gojo called, much louder than necessary.
The man pointed at himself uncertainly.
“...Me?” His voice carried surprisingly well despite the distance.
“Do you see anyone else here?”
The man shrugged.
“Come up here! I need your help!” Gojo shouted, already pointing toward the nearby staircase.
The stranger hesitated, but eventually made his way upstairs. Up close, he was a little taller than Gojo, with a pushed-up sunglasses, a faint moustache, and confusion written all over his face.
“You okay kid? Are you hurt or–”
“Nope! I’m totally cool. Like… super okay right now,” Gojo interrupted with a bright smile.
The man raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment.
“So when you said you needed help…”
“Oh no, I totally do.” Gojo grabbed the man by the shoulders and looked at him with complete seriousness.
“Where am I?”
The man blinked.
“Uh…” He glanced around awkwardly. “The east section of the second floor? I think the metro exit is nearby…”
“No, you idiot.” Gojo shook him dramatically. “At least you’re speaking Japanese, so that means I didn’t leave the country.”
The man frowned in confusion.
“...Why would you leave the country?”
“Doesn’t matter. Listen,” Gojo shushed him, holding up a raised finger. “I know you're a little slow.”
The stranger raised an eyebrow, though an amused grin started tugging at his lips.
“But I need you to concentrate super hard right now, okay Rapunzel?”
“Sure,” the man laughed.
“Okay. What city am I in?” Gojo asked again.
“You’re in Tokyo. Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall,” the man answered slowly, eyeing him oddly.
“Cool, cool. So… yeah. Okay. That’s not as bad as I thought,” Gojo exhaled in relief, finally letting go of him.
The man stared at him for a moment, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
“Are you drunk?”
Gojo frowned immediately.
Why did everyone keep asking him that?
He might be tipsy, but not drunk.
“I’m totally, absolutely, not at all, drunk at all. Like… at all.” He paused, losing track of his sentence halfway through. “Are you drunk?”
“Why would I be drunk?” the man asked, laughing softly.
“Well, you asked me,” Gojo huffed, rolling his eyes. “Besides, why else would you be here? Wait–why are you here?”
The man shrugged casually.
“There’s a record store here connected to my radio station. I’ve got keys to the place, so I can come and go whenever I want.”
“Dude, you have a radio station? That’s sick as fuck.” Gojo grinned instantly, and the man broke into an easy smile too.
“I know, right? Thanks!” He laughed. “Now the better question is, why are you here?”
Gojo whined dramatically, covering his eyes with one hand.
“I dunno. I just wanted to teleport home because I was really far away, y’know? But then I started thinking about a bunch of stuff and boom, now I’m here.” His eyes drifted back to the toy store.
“I can’t believe I messed up.” He groaned, his frustration only growing. “I’m supposed to be better than that.”
The man watched him quietly for a moment before patting his shoulder gently.
“Hey, it’s alright. We all mess up sometimes,” he said softly.
The gentleness in his voice made Gojo blink in surprise.
“Now, let’s get you home.”
The stranger pulled out his phone and typed something into it before groaning.
“Well, unsurprisingly, public transport’s closed at this hour. Taxis aren’t available either.” He sighed before looking back at Gojo. “Do you have any family members or friends you could call?”
Icy shiver ran down Gojo’s spine at the thought.
“I’d rather skin myself alive than call my friend,” he grimaced, closing his eyes. “She’d totally make it a meme and bully me until the day I die. I can’t let that happen.” He paused, trying to arrange his thoughts together.
“Not to mention she’s extra bitchy when someone wakes her up.”
“Well that solution’s down,” the man hummed in deep thought. “Where do you live? I can drive you if you want.”
“Nope.” Gojo immediately stepped back, shaking his head. “Stranger danger, dude. Just because you’re cool doesn’t mean I’m giving you my address.”
“Kid, I’m not gonna hurt you,” the man sighed.
“Nope. I’m not risking you selling my address. I really don’t feel like fighting assassins again.”
It had been easier when he still lived in the school dorms, but ever since moving in with Megumi and Tsumiki… he couldn’t protect them every second of the day. He wasn’t risking their safety. He’d rather sleep on a bench.
“I’ll just get back myself,” he hummed.
“That sounds like a terrible idea,” the man interrupted immediately. “Drunk driving or quirk usage is dangerous.”
Gojo shot him a triumphant smile, waving off the concern.
“Aww, are you worried about little ol’ me, grandpa? We just met,” he giggled. “No need. I’ve teleported in waaay worse shape before. I’m totally cool. Okay, maybe not cool. But fine. Like… sober. Yep. Sober fine.” Gojo paused for a second. “...do you think you could get fined for being sober?”
The man stared at him flatly.
Why did everyone stare at him like that?
He already had enough judgment from Megumi, he didn’t need it from strangers in the shopping mall…
“Wait, I just remembered something.” Gojo perked up suddenly. “I wanted to—no. I need to buy souvenirs. Or toys. Or whatever.” He pointed toward the store before looking back at him.
“Wanna come with?”
The man stared at him for a second before chuckling and nodding.
“Sure. Someone needs to make sure you don’t hurt yourself,” he mused. “You might even sober up a bit.”
“I told you I’m not–”
The stranger waved him off, clearly coming to his own conclusion. “By the way, my name’s Hizashi Yamada.”
Gojo grinned and immediately offered him a handshake.
“Gojo.”
As soon as they shook hands, Gojo stepped toward the closed shop. Metal shutters covered the entrance, and the lights inside were completely out. He grabbed the bars with both hands and pressed his face against the empty gaps between them.
Should he just use cursed energy and get to the other side? He wouldn’t even need to use Hollow Purple or anything dramatic. He could just reinforce his hands and bend the bars apart. Honestly, Gojo was pretty sure he could do it without cursed energy too.
“Giving up already?” Yamada laughed from behind him, reminding Gojo that he wasn’t alone.
Oh right. He almost forgot he was with a civilian.
The guy mentioned quirks and didn’t recognize Gojo’s name or techniques… so he must’ve been a total noob.
Gojo let out a long, suffering sigh.
“I don’t get it,” he whined. “Why is it closed? Didn’t you say this was a shopping center?”
Yamada hummed, patting him lightly on the back.
“Well, it is two in the morning–”
“What?!” Gojo whipped around so fast he nearly lost his balance. “It was like… five p.m. five minutes ago!”
Yamada shrugged helplessly.
“But I can’t go back yet. I still need to buy souvenirs for Megumi and Tsumiki,” Gojo huffed in annoyance. He turned back to the still thoroughly clueless Yamada and grabbed him by the arm.
“Let’s go,” he declared.
“Wha–”
Yamada’s voice cut off abruptly as Gojo warped them both of them through the shutters and directly into the store, reappearing in front of the checkout counter.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to warn a guy before teleporting him somewhere,” Yamada huffed shakily, gripping the counter hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Gojo could practically see the cold sweat dripping down his temple.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo waved him off, already wandering deeper into the store. “I teleported with a five-year-old, and he made less of a fuss than you.”
“You teleported with a five-year old?” Yamada screeched.
But Gojo was already browsing through the toy aisles.
He had plenty of ideas for Tsumiki.
She was basically an angel, the complete opposite of Megumi.
Tsumiki already owned several Barbie dolls, a collection of My Little Pony sets, and enough silly dresses to fill half her closet. At first, she’d been too shy to ask for anything, but after Gojo stuck around long enough, she’d slowly started opening up to him. Ever since then, he’d made it his personal mission to shower her with gifts whenever he could.
It’s not like he lacked money. And if he spoiled the siblings a little?
Well, why the hell not?
They deserved it.
“Yo Yamada?” Gojo called toward the back of the store, not glancing away from the toy aisle.
“Yeah?” The man in question wandered over until he stood beside him.
“Do you have a kid? Around six years old?” Gojo asked, glancing between the LEGO sets and plushies.
“Kinda.” Yamada shrugged
Gojo turned to him slowly.
“What kind of answer is that–? It’s either yes, or no.”
“Well…” Yamada scratched the back oh his neck awkwardly. “My fiance and I are fostering right now, but we’ve been talking about long-term adoption. So… it’s complicated.” He glanced sideways at Gojo. “You?”
“...Kinda.”
Yamada snorted immediately.
“Hypocryte.”
“It’s complicated,” Gojo repeated with a dramatic roll of his eyes.
“Aren’t you a little young to have a kid?”
“Kids,” Gojo corrected automatically before shrugging. “And aren’t you a little old to be hanging out with a drunk teenager?”
Yamada raised an eyebrow.
“I thought you weren’t drunk.”
“Of course I’m not.” Gojo huffed, visibly offended.
“And hold on” Yamada frowned, as if suddenly rethinking the entire situation they were in. “Teenager? How old are you?”
“Old enough to legally drink, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Gojo lied smoothly, a giggle slipping out halfway through the sentence. “But I do like to think of myself as eternally youthful."
Yamada rolled his eyes.
“I’m only sticking around to make sure you don’t hurt yourself while intoxicated,” he sighed. “I’d feel bad if something happened to you when I could’ve prevented it.”
Gojo placed a hand dramatically over his heart.
“Alright noble knight,” he declared. “Help me choose the perfect gifts for the two gremlins waiting at home.”
Yamada laughed quietly and nodded.
“Alright then. What’re we looking for?”
“A perfect gift for a perfect seven-year-old girl. She likes animals, Barbies, and playing pretend,” he listed quickly before pausing for a second.
Gojo’s gaze lingered on the LEGO shelves for a second longer than before.
“And a five-year-old boy.” His voice softened just slightly. “He’s… a little harder. But he’s a sucker for animals and LEGO I guess.”
Yamada hummed thoughtfully beside him.
“No hero merch?”
Gojo scrunched his nose, not even bothering to answer.
“Just asking,” Yamada burst out laughing at the face Gojo made. “Kids love heroes.”
“Not my kids,” Gojo corrected quietly.
Yamada either didn’t notice the change in tone or chose to ignore it, as he continued scanning the shelves. He crouched slightly to inspect the display more closely, thinking over the options.
“Well, the little girl’s easy,” he said, walking over to the nearby aisle. “You said she likes Barbies, right? Here.” He grabbed a box and held it up proudly with a triumphant smile. “A Princess Barbie.”
“Nope. Already has that one.” Gojo shook his head immediately.
Yamada nodded seriously.
“Okay then… what about this?” He picked up a different doll. “Flower Mermaid Barbie?”
“Bought her that too.”
“Cosmonaut Bar–”
“Nope.”
“Vampire Bar–”
“Nuh uh.”
Yamada slowly lowered the box in his hands and turned to stare at Gojo with complete seriousness.
“...Gojo, why don’t you just look through the dolls and pick one she doesn’t own?” he asked brightly, though the irritation underneath was painfully obvious.
Too bad Gojo was drunk enough not to care.
He stepped in front of Yamada and scanned the shelves quickly.
“Huh.”
“What?” Yamada perked up immediately, glasses sliding down his nose. “You found something?”
“The exact opposite, actually,” Gojo hummed. “I think she owns all of them.”
Yamada blinked at him in confusion.
“Are you serious? There are like…” He turned back toward the shelves, counting under his breath. “Twenty-six different Barbies here. She has all of them?”
“Yep.”
Yamada stared at him for a solid few seconds before dragging both hands down his face dramatically.
“Alright! New strategy,” he declared, clapping loudly enough for the sound to echo through the empty store. “The girl I’m fostering is obsessed with plushies. You should just get stuffed animals. Boom. Problem solved. They’re cute, safe, and,” he sent Gojo a large grin. “They work for all genders. So you’re done with both Megumi’s and Tsumiki’s gift, two birds with one stone. Hm?”
Gojo immediately dropped everything in his arms onto the floor and threw himself at Yamada with enough force to nearly knock the poor man over.
“Yamada, you absolute genius!” Gojo cried. “Look at you go, Ranpuzel!”
Yamada laughed as Gojo clung to him dramatically for exactly two seconds before shoving him away again with enough force to send him stumbling backward into a shelf.
Taking a few steps back, Yamada looked up.
“Damn, kid, warn a guy before you push him away…” The joke died on Yamada’s tongue.
Gojo wasn't smiling anymore.
Instead a scowl and a pair of cold eyes replaced them.
The change was so abrupt it took Yamada a second to register it.
He opened his mouth to make another joke. But nothing came out of his mouth, the feeling of wrongness clutching to his chest like a lifevest.
One moment Gojo was a drunk teenager causing trouble in a shopping mall. Next, Yamada couldn't shake the feeling that he was looking at someone far more dangerous than he'd first assumed.
Somewhere above them, a fluorescent bulb buzzed and flickered.
Neither of them looked away.
“…How did you know their names?”
Yamada blinked.
Gojo stood completely still now, his sunglasses slipping down just enough to reveal the intensity of his stare. Despite being the taller of the two, for the first time that night, Yamada found himself choosing his next words carefully.
“What?”
“I’m not joking.” Gojo fingers of his right hand twitching. "How did you know Megumi and Tsumiki’s names?”
Yamada didn’t move, his eyebrows frowned. As if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.
Fool.
Gojo might be intoxicated, but he wasn’t a fucking idiot.
If Yamada was an assasination sent to kill him or retrieve Megumi to the Zenin clan it would be a shame, but a necessary sacrifice to keep them safe. Gojo wouldn’t gamble on their future just because the man was nice.
When Yamada didn’t do as much as move, still deep in his thoughts, Gojo's eyebrow twitched.
“Answer the question, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
There was a moment of silence that followed, where the man seemed to come to his own conclusion.
“…You told me,” Yamada answered him carefully. “Outside the store, remember? You said you needed souvenirs for them before going home.”
Gojo didn’t respond.
The silence stretched.
Yamada’s eyes were scanning his body language and Gojo knew he was trying to figure out just what was Gojo thinking. He had no luck however.
Beside the calculations behind his bright eyes, there was no way Yamada could ever understand his thought process.
Gojo’s fingers twitched once at his side before going still again.
His six eyes didn’t see a drop of cursed energy, nor cursed tool on Yamada’s body. His heart rate didn’t elevate, breathing pattern didn’t change, and continued sweating only 0.7 liters per hour as before.
Yamada wasn’t lying.
The tension shattered immediately.
“Ohhh!” Gojo yelped loudly. “Right! Yep, that sounds like something I’d say.” He burst into laughter and smacked Yamada on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble again. “My bad! Guess I am a little tipsy.”
Yamada raised an eyebrow slowly.
“A little?” Yamada raised an eyebrow.
“Of course!” Gojo rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I’ve been drunk. This is not me being drunk. I’m actually being extremely responsible right now.”
“Now I’m really curious what happened when you were drunk drunk," Yamada barked a laugh, moving forward.
The tension lingered for another moment before gradually giving way to something easier.
“…you know,” Yamada said lightly, rubbing his shoulder, “most drunk teenagers cry, text their exes, or throw up in public.”
Gojo gasped dramatically. “Are you saying I’m special?”
“I’m saying you threatened to blow my head off in a toy store.”
“Oh come on,” Gojo waved him off with a lazy grin. “I wasn’t actually gonna do it.”
Yamada hummed.
Okay, so Yamada didn’t buy his bullshit.
Honestly, Gojo couldn’t even blame him. Yamada knew Gojo knew, that Yamada knew Gojo was a liar. At this point they were both just politely pretending otherwise. Liars. Both of them.
Liar liar, pants on fire~
Damn. Maybe he shouldn’t have that many Piña Coladas after all.
He gulped.
Whatever, it wasn’t like it really mattered. They’d probably never see each other again, who gave a shit what Yamada thought of him?
“Anyway!” Gojo clapped loudly, already moving on. “Plushies. Yes. Brilliant idea. Now where do they keep these fluffy cuties?”
Yamada let the subject drop for now, though his eyes stayed on Gojo a second longer before following after him.
Still, the two of them resumed wandering through the store together, conversation slowly slipping back into place like the earlier moment had never happened at all.
Eventually they found a giant bin overflowing with stuffed animals.
“Oh, jackpot!” Yamada crouched beside it immediately, digging through the pile with exaggerated seriousness. “C’mon, these things are scientifically engineered to corrupt the children's minds.”
Gojo snorted and started digging through the plushies too, and pulled out a light blue elephant plush along with a fluffy gray wolf.
Perfect.
He’d seen Tsumiki staring at a similar elephant plush in a shopping mall a few weeks ago. This one was from softer fabric, with floppy ears and a stitched little smile.
Megumi already owned way too many stuffed animals, especially dogs, but none of them looked like this. It’s gray, soft fur unlike any other dog plushes he had. Besides, this one looked grumpy. The resemblance made Gojo snicker.
A small, genuine smile found its way onto Gojo’s face.
When he turned around, Yamada was still crouched by the bin, carefully digging through the pile like he was searching for something specific. He paused when he found a cat plush buried near the bottom.
“Aha,” Yamada grinned triumphantly, holding it up like a buried treasure. “Found you.”
Gojo huffed.
“Ya know,” Yamada hummed, turning the stuffed black cat over in his hands, “this kinda reminds me of my teenage years.”
Gojo raised an eyebrow. “You robbed toy stores at two in the morning?”
Yamada barked out a laugh.
“Didn’t you say we’re buying the toys? I didn’t know we were robbing them.”
Gojo frowned at him immediately.
“What? No. Absolutely not. That’s, like, super illegal.” He rolled his eyes. “We’re buying stuff. I’ll leave the money on the counter.”
“Uh-huh,” Yamada said, clearly unconvinced.
“Well,” his gaze dropped back to the plushie, “I might’ve been a bit of a delinquent, though. Had a pretty impressive criminal record.”
“Oh really?” Gojo looked at him with exaggerated seriousness. “What’d you do? Steal a lollipop?”
“Among other things,” Yamada laughed. “It doesn’t matter anymore, my fiance cleaned it up and made me act more heroic.”
Gojo stared at him blankly until Yamada slowly frowned back.
“What?”
Gojo let out the most offended whine imaginable.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those hero freaks,” he groaned dramatically. “I thought you were cool, man. Don’t ruin this for me.”
Yamada clutched the plush cat to his chest like he’d been personally wounded.
“Excuse you?” he gasped. “What does that even mean? You seriously don’t like heroes?”
“Duh.” Gojo rolled his eyes. “Dunno. They all seem so lame. Not to mention how fake, shiny and don’t even get me started on dramatic,” Gojo continued with exaggerated eye-roll, successfully ignoring the pointed glare from Yamada.
So maybe, just maybe, he was describing himself.
He was man enough to admit that.
But he was the Six eyes and Limitless, it’s not like he got a choice. And sure, the popularity was nice. But unlike all those wannabe heroes, Gojo never plastered his face on a billboard because of it.
Hell.
Most of the world didn't even know curses were real. The only people who knew Satoru Gojo existed were other sorcerers and curses.
Yamada beside him snorted.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right one.”
Gojo narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, as if reassessing Yamada didn’t get switched during their previous conversation.
“Dude I picked you because you looked cool. Don’t sabotage yourself."
Yamada sighed toward the ceiling.
“But you do think I’m cool, right?” he asked with surprising sincerity.
Gojo tilted his head thoughtfully.
“...I’m currently reconsidering.”
Yamada groaned loud enough to echo through the empty store.
Gojo wandered toward the counter with the plushies tucked under one arm.
“I seriously don’t get why this matters so much to you,” he muttered. “It’s not like you’re a hero or anything.”
The silence behind him lasted exactly one second too long.
Yamada made a strangled noise.
Gojo ignored it completely and dropped far too much cash onto the counter with a loud slap.
Yamada stared at the pile.
“…You know these plushies don’t cost that much, right?”
Gojo blinked at him.
“Wait.” His eyes slid to the cat plush still tucked under Yamada’s arm. “You’re buying that for your daughter?”
“Nah.” Yamada smiled softly. “My fiance.”
Gojo hummed.
He remembered when Suguru bought him gifts.
The overflowing amount of memories flashed through his mind. Suguru handing him a stuffed MetalGreymon while he was overstimulated. Sitting beside his bed and pretending he wasn’t worried. Complaining the entire time while cutting apples for him anyway, because ‘Satoru those milkshakes can keep you alive only for so long’.
Gojo looked away before the thought could settle too deeply.
Instead, he pulled out even more money and shoved it toward Yamada.
“I’m paying for yours too.”
“What? No.” Yamada immediately pushed it back. “Absolutely not.”
“For helping me,” Gojo shrugged. “Otherwise I would’ve probably passed out on a bench somewhere.”
He was still considering that option, actually.
“You’re in your twenties,” Yamada argued. “I’m thirty, and have a stable job. I’m not letting some drunk teenager buy me gifts–”
“Shhh,” Gojo pressed a finger dramatically against his lips.
Yamada blinked.
“I’m doing you a favor,” Gojo informed him kindly. “So accept my generosity and shut up.”
Yamada stared at him for a long moment, visibly losing the argument internally.
Gojo ignored him and stretched his arms over his head.
He was tired.
He was satisfied with the stuffed animals, and his day was officially complete. Mission one? Done. Mission two? Done. Get a drink, buy souvenirs for the kids, and somehow make a friend? Also done.
Not bad, all things considered.
A fairly productive day in his opinion.
And weirdly enough, Yamada still didn’t seem annoyed by him. Which was, honestly, admirable. Most adults either got uncomfortable around Gojo immediately or treated him like a walking weapon.
Not that he blamed them. He knew better than anyone just how insufferable he could be, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t do it from time to time on purpose.
Yamada seemed to enjoy his company for once which was… nice change.
Even if he’d probably start acting completely different after learning who Gojo really was, talking to him had been pretty cool.
A shame he’ll never see the guy again.
Gojo rocked back on his heels before smiling lazily.
“Well. I miss my bed, so I’m leaving now.”
Yamada looked mildly alarmed by that phrasing alone.
“Nice meeting you, Yamada,” Gojo grinned, taking a step back so he’d have space to teleport.
“Yeah, good luck with the hangover,” Yamada laughed. “Bet the kids will love the gifts.”
“Obviously,” Gojo scoffed. “They’re from me after all.”
Yamada smiled back, but suddenly his expression shifted.
The realization hit him all at once.
“Wait,” he said sharply, reaching toward him. “You’re not actually teleporting drunk and leaving m—”
With a blue flash, the space folded and suddenly Gojo was collapsing face-first onto his bed at home, still fully dressed, plushies crushed against his chest.
He let out a satisfied hum into the mattress, already half-asleep. His last thoughts drifted toward Megumi and Tsumiki.
Damn.
He really loved his kids.